Trust Me, Please?
by Doublebee
Summary: "You need to stop thinking I'm your father, and you're your mother. Do you get it?"


The door clicks closed as Soul sneaks inside at a whooping 3:47 a.m.

Darkness consumes the house, and the scythe silently makes his way through the living room, freezing in his tracks when the lamp in the corner turns on, and it is Maka sitting in the black cushioned seat. She stares at him with wide green eyes, lips in a thin line. When her gaze falls to the floor, he follows it, and feels guilt stabbing at his heartstrings when he sees their two little girls, sleeping on the floor with colorful blankets and a pillow each.

Maka gets up swiftly, weaving between their children and drawing her tan night robe around her tighter, covering her light, silky yellow nightdress. Another stab of guilt; she'd been **waiting** for him to come home. But his mission had run late, honestly! The plane had to make an emergency stop due to weather conditions, he had to wait for **three** taxis at the airport because there wasn't enough. He wasn't doing what he knows she thinks, he really, really wasn't.

"Honey," he whispers, setting his bag down on the sofa. "It was an accident, the plane was late, we got delayed 'cause of a storm—"

"How _dare_ you."

Soul is amazed with the hiss of hatred in her voice. Confused, he leans forward to give her a look, which only causes her eyes to narrow and her arms to tighten as they're folded. Her hands are clenched, and he holds his arms out slightly, a subconscious offering for her to come closer.

"Maka, I honestly am telling you the truth!"

She glares at him, and when she steps a bit closer, he can see the slight amount of smeared mascara under her eyes. Yet another stab of guilt for Soul.

"This isn't the first time, Soul." The way she says his name makes him sound like a terrible illness. "So. Who is she?"

"Babe, there isn't—!"

"You're lying!" She hisses, her lips curling up in a snarl at him as tears spill down over her flawless cheekbones. He can't stand to see her so upset, it nearly kills him inside. "Stop _lying_ Soul! Just tell me the truth!"

"Maka, I swear on _everything_ I have, I'm not doing what you think I am. I am _not_ like your father, and you know that, don't you? So why can't you just believe me it's my job, sweetheart? It is, it is, I promise you the world, Maka, it _is_!"

They've had this conversation multiple times over the years. She screams and cries at him until he's down on his knees, begging to stay and begging for forgiveness. It's a deadly routine, Soul knows, but he also knows this is how Maka grew up. She told him before about how every night she'd stay up, her ear pressed to her bedroom door as her Mama and Papa were down the hall, screaming at each other, until finally her Mama kicked him out, only for the process to repeat the next.

_She literally thinks this is how couples are supposed to act_.

He can only attempt to teach her better, though, because with his own distant parents who rarely shared a romantic or sweet moment EVER, he's had nothing to take notes from. So all he usually does is go along with Maka, for her sake, and play this sadistic game until things return back to normal, and start to turn again tomorrow.

But not tonight.

"Maka."

Her eyes look at him, shining with tears as she keeps her arms tightly cross. Her throat tenses as she swallows down a sob, her shoulder twitching. She does not answer him with words, only with cold, sharp body language. It makes him feel like a failure as a husband.

"Maka, baby, look," he slips his hands under her folded arms to hold her hands, and pull them out towards him. Soul nods at the two sleeping children on the floor, their eldest daughter, age eleven, gently curled around her younger sibling, age five. "Look at them, sweetheart. Do you think _they_ like playing this game every night, with us screaming at each other until one of us breaks?"

Maka blinks at him, her face softening, her tears more sorrowful and less angry as they drip down from her eyes. Soul lifts one of their bonded hands, his thumb brushing away the wetness as it falls. He knows she doesn't want this anymore than he does.

"I don't- I don't know how t-to do this," she splutters, hiccupping with tears as she falls into his chest, her fingers gripping at his white dress shirt as she cries softly into his shoulder. Warm hands are at her back, stroking her spine lovingly as he shushes and whispers sweet words into his wife's ear, kissing her hair every now and then.

"Yes you do, angel. I know you do." His voice wavers, though he continues to speak. "We can still fix this, you know. Make it so we're not always at each other's throats. Wouldn't that be nice, sweetheart?"

His suggestion makes the crying from her stop. Maka peers up at him, sniffling, as she straightens up visibly as well. Her pink lips stick out in a curious sort of pout, and her hands come to link just around the back of her husband's neck as she listens.

"How? Please, tell me, Soul."

Soul's lips crash against hers, not a lustful kiss of any sort, but one filled with promise. He allows his tongue to dance with her own, feeling his pride and courage flare up when her hands grip his cheeks, keeping their faces stuck together, lips locked. But when Maka begins to get daring, nipping and biting, Soul pulls away, shaking his head at her as he regains the air he lacked during their connection and lets his hand gently stroke her neck.

"You _have_ to trust me. You just need to stop living in the past, baby girl." His face is serious as the tears that make the corners of his eyes burn. "You need to stop thinking I'm your father, and you're your mother. Do you get it?"

Maka only stares at him. She wants more, she wants him to explain more of this fairy-tale life to her. She wants him to _make_ her fall into the story he's weaving and never come to the realization that hurt actually exists in this world.

"You are Maka Evans, and I'm Soul _Evans_, do you understand? Not Spirit and Kami. We are _madly_ in love with each other, and we have two of the most beautiful children in the whole goddammed world. And you, as a wife, a meister and my friend, know that I would never, ever trade you or our babies for a single fucking thing on this planet. Can you do that? Can you understand this?"

When Soul asks his questions between sentences, they're kind and genuinely curious. Sincere. He just needs to ask, to make sure she can. He's not trying to make her feel stupid, nor be hostile, only ask if she's capable of such a thing. And when she nods slowly at him with tears hanging from her eyelashes, Soul crushes her to his chest, letting his own tears drip down his cheeks in happiness.

"Trust me." He whispers. "Just please, trust me."

Maka nods against his, fingers clutching his shirt pitifully as her tears wet his shirt fabric and flesh. She sniffles, trying to beat the hiccups she lets out every few seconds so she can actually speak.

"I promise I will. You're nothing like Papa… A-and I'm not Mama."

Her admittion to this fact makes him lift her off the floor in a tight hug, spinning her around once before setting her back down with a sealing kiss. For fourteen years, those were the words he dreamt about when he wasn't having nightmares, longed to hear her speak. And the moment she had, his heart literally skipped a beat while a warm smile grew on his face.

"Thank you," Soul murmurs, kissing the side of her cheek happily, before patting her rump with a smirk. "Go get to bed, okay? I'll get Angel and Grace."

Maka with her tearful smile nods, kissing him on the lips before wiping her eyes and making her way up the stairs, up to their shared bedroom. The thought she wasn't kicking Soul out, or to the couch tonight made his chest puff up with pride as he slides his arms under Angel, their eldest, and hoists her up bridal-style into his arms. The girl groans, teased blonde hair whipping forward as she presses her face into Soul's shoulder, just like her mother. He quickly takes the child upstairs and to her room, before repeating the process with the smaller blonde-haired girl, who doesn't so much as twitch when he moves her.

After both girls are placed into bed with a kiss from their Daddy, Soul quietly makes his way back to the bedroom he missed sleeping in, what with Maka kicking him out so many times. But tonight, she sits up in bed waiting for him, wearing some silky, yellow, skimpy nightdress. He smiles at her, closing their door as he nearly runs to bed to ravish, love and hold his wife.

_His_ wife. Finally, all his own, with her heart, mind and soul.


End file.
